


The Mind Killer

by USSFriendship



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, Light Angst, Litany against fear, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSFriendship/pseuds/USSFriendship
Summary: Soulmates exist, but are very, very rare. Bucky is one of the lucky few, though he is convinced his soulmate must be long gone. Then he meets Clint Barton.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 26
Kudos: 161
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland





	The Mind Killer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekTriangle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekTriangle/gifts).



“Aw, hell, ow,” Bucky groans before yanking his coffee-sodden shirt over his head. 

“What’s up, Snowflake?” Tony asks cheerfully as he walks into the kitchen, but is brought up short by the image of James Buchannan Barnes, naked from the waist up, kneeling on the floor, mopping up a puddle of coffee with his shirt. “Oh, damn. Hello, Soldier. Wait, are we not there yet? I’m sorry, I’m not trying to make it weird. Shit. I mean… What’s going on, and what can I do to help?”

Bucky looks up at him with an unamused glare and blows a wayward strand of hair out of his face before answering. “I was trying to make a pot of coffee, but,” he gestures at the mess he’s mostly failing to clean up, “it didn’t exactly go according to fuckin’ plan.”

“Yeah, I see that. Here, let me help,” Tony says as he holds out his hand to Bucky, clearly to help the other man stand. It took a couple of long beats for Bucky to accept, but he eventually reaches of the offered hand and lets Tony help him up. Before Bucky really knows what’s going on, the mess is gone and Tony is stowing a small robot he’d conjured up from somewhere in the pocket of his oversized hoodie. 

“See? Good as new, Olaf! Now, on to coffee!” Clapping his hands together excitedly, Tony sets out to show Bucky how to use the custom-built coffee maker. He looks to Bucky to show him which buttons do what when he stops short, staring at words printed on Bucky’s hip in heavy, dark letters. 

“The Litany Against Fear. Holy shit.”

Bucky just blinks at him. “What?”

“The-” Tony gestures vaguely in the direction of Bucky’s soulmark. “Well, I am guessing you don’t know what it is, so it’s not a tattoo. That’d be a bitchin tattoo, though. But. Oh, holy shit. You have a soulmate! You have a soulmate, and they are  _ awesome _ .”

“I…” Bucky starts, but doesn’t know where to go from there. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I guess I had a soulmate. Mark showed up when I was eleven. Chances are, they’re long dead by now. An’ it’s weird, strange words. I…” He’s at a loss. Again. There is so much baggage that goes with the words, and he doesn’t want to get into it. Not now, not with Tony. Not ever or with anyone, really. And everything is so new. He’d only been in the tower for a few weeks. He’d only been away from his little hut in Wakanda, from Shiri and her having pulled the last of the Hydra programming out of his head for such a short time. Plus - and this was stupid, and not any kind of justification, but he’d cling to whatever he could - it was Christmas time, and he didn’t want to drag the holiday down for anyone. The whole team would be here for the holiday, and he was feeling awkward enough about interrupting their time together, to say nothing about the whole… whatever with Tony. The last thing he wanted to do was bring his heap of bullshit around for everyone to either tip-toe around or step in.

“Hey, it’s all good, Barnes.” Tony’s voice was so light, and his face was so soft, and Bucky was so grateful for it. “Heavy shit, I know. I’m sorry for butting in. I’ve just, well, I’ve only ever seen one other soulmark.” Tony turned back to the coffee machine, paused, and turned back to look at Bucky. “It’s just, look, I’ll let it drop, but, just, uh. They’re not dead.”

Bucky just blinked at him a few times. “What?”

“The words turn grey when the Speaker dies.” Sadness flashes across the genius’s face, a there-and-gone thing, replaced by a soft smile, “so your Mate is still alive. Alive and awesome.” He clears his throat and barks out a cheerful “Ok! Coffee time!” before rubbing his hands together and running Bucky through how to use the incredible elaborate machine.

Half an hour later and Bucky was curled up under a ridiculously fluffy blanket in one of the oversized chairs that lived in the common room, sipping his second cup of coffee and half-watching a cooking competition show when Tony walked in, looking sheepish. 

“Uh, heya, Barnes. Here, this is…” he trailed off and started to look unsure of himself. Bucky had never seen Tony be anything other than… extremely confident, so it left Bucky a little unsettled. He was just about to say something about it when Tony handed over a small, rectangular package wrapped in shiny silver paper. “I, uh. Fuck. Look. I don’t do feelings. Not good at ‘em, and I am not used to not being good at things. So. Uh, I’m yammering.” He took a deep breath and held it long enough that Bucky was starting to get a little worried, but then he let it out slowly, and started over. “Look. This whole thing is weird, and there’s a lot of shitty things behind us, and some of them are my fault. I was a dick, and I’m sorry. No hard feelings on my part.” He wiggled the package gently at Bucky, “and this isn’t… well, it isn’t anything. But, uh, I think you will like it. An olive branch, of sorts.”

Tentatively, Bucky reached out and grabbed the present. He could tell it was a book, a paperback, as soon as he held it, and he couldn’t help getting a little excited. Reading was his favorite pastime, and Steve had told him that it had been the same, back before everything fell apart. Still, though, this was… something. Tony may think he’s no good at feelings, but he was still worlds better with them than some antique formerly brainwashed assassin. “Tony, you didn’t have to. It’s… hell, I don’t know what it is. You’ve already done so much, and I’ve been-”

Tony cut him off. “Stop right there, Bomb-pop. It’s a gesture, just like you trusting me enough to live here with me is a gesture. Accept it for what it is. Say ‘thank you,’ open your gift, and let’s be done with all this squishy emotional crap, yeah?”

“Yeah, Tony. Yeah, you’re right. Thank you.”

“Ah, music to my ears. Enjoy. I  _ really _ think you’ll like it.”

With that, Tony turned on his heel and walked out of the room, Leaving Bucky staring after him, with the still wrapped present in his hand. 

He stared at the shiny paper for a few seconds before tearing into the thing, genuinely curious to find out what book Tony was so convinced he’d like. 

According to the words blazoned across the top of the battered cover, the answer was Dune the novel by Frank Herbert. It took him a tick to realise that the book was old and, frankly, beat up in a way that indicated it been read nearly to death. The spine was white in places where it had been broken, and the whole thing was sort of warped like it had been held tightly for a long time. All at once it hit him that he was holding Tony’s book, or what had been Tony’s book, and the weight of that fact was too much, it was too personal. He’d give the book back, he thought, and then read it on his tablet, like he’d read everything else since he’d come in from the cold. He pointely ignored the fact that everything he’d read in the last year had been on a tablet Tony had given him - a top of the line, very expensive tablet - and he’d had no problems accepting that gift. He couldn’t seem to make himself get out of the chair, though; the two moons in an orange sky over a vast expanse of sand had him hooked. Well, he reasoned with himself, Tony had given it to him to read, so he’d read it and give it back. With that decision made, he turned off the TV and settled into the chair and started reading.

* * *

Several hours passed without Bucky noticing, and would have continued on that way until he finished the book had he not be interrupted. 

“Heya, Barnes. Long time, no see. S’up?” 

Bucky looked up from his book schooled his features when he saw Sam waving at him, followed by Bruce Banner and Clint Barton. Aside from Steve and Tony, Sam was the only other Avenger Bucky actually knew, but they weren’t exactly friends. Well, Bucky wasn’t really friends with anyone. Technically he and Clint had met at the airstrip in Berlin, but they were too busy fighting to bother with introductions. The newcomes made him nervous, and he really just wanted to get back to the book. He’d been hooked from the first word, and couldn’t wait to see where it went. 

“Hi, Wilson. Reading,” he answered, with a curt nod to the three of them.

“Nice, bro. Whatchya reading?” Wilson asked. 

Bucky knew the man was just trying to be polite, but he couldn’t seem to make himself return the favor, and he really wanted to get back to reading, so he just held the book up, showing them the cover. 

“Dune, good choice,” Bruce enthused, and next to him Barton nodded.

“Fear is the mind killer,” The impossibly tall blonde said quietly, a soft smile tugging at the very edges of his mouth. 

The words seemed to stop time. Bucky’s mind shorted out and his body went static-fuzzy and his heart stopped beating. And then something in his hip  _ burned _ , bringing him back to the present.

Eyes narrowing, Bucky swiveled to stare at Barton and ground out “What did you say?” 

Across the room Barton hissed sharply and wobbled a little bit, before Bruce reached out to steady him. It was then that Bucky saw that Barton’s right leg was encased in a hard-core looking knee brace. 

“Clint,” Bruce not-whined at the man standing next to him, “I told you it was too much. Come on, let’s get you to your apartment before you do more damage.”

For his part, Clint nodded absently and let himself be led out of the room. 

“That was weird, even for Hawkass,” Wilson commented as he watched his friends leave the room. “Well, it’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’m going to grab a snack and crash for the night. Enjoy your book, Barnes.”

Sam was gone before Bucky got himself together enough to reply, so he tried to clear his head so he could get back to reading. 

* * *

Another indeterminate amount of time passed, marked only by his turning pages, when Bucky was brought up short again, this time by the book in his hand. 

There, on the page in front of him, were the words he knew so well. The words he’d been walking around with on his hip for most of his life. 

Fear is the mind-killer.

And the same words Clint Barton had said to him earlier, the ones that made the words on his skin burn. It was part of the Litany Against Fear that Tony had mentioned earlier.

_ I must not fear. _

_ Fear is the mind-killer. _

_ Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. _

_ I will face my fear. _

_ I will let it pass through me.  _

_ When the fear has gone, _

_ There shall be nothing. _

_ Only I will remain. _

Bucky was stuck. It was all too much. When they had first showed up, Bucky was so happy; He had a soulmate, and that was wonderful, and they were fearless, and that, in turn, made him fearless. That was the only way he could make sense of the words for a long time. Then he got drafted, and they terrified him. He was going to meet his soulmate during the war, during something terrifying, and that broke his heart. It left him scared he wouldn’t get enough time with them. He didn’t meet them, though, and the words became his own, truncated litany against fear. They’d been his last thought as he fell from the train all those years ago. 

Then they’d become a tool for Hydra. They’d warped them, and twisted them. Used them as proof that he was destined to be a part in helping them fulfil their horrible goals. Used them to turn him into a killer; to build him into a being made of fear. 

The words on the page, though, they were beautiful. The whole thing. He knew how the Litany worked, the words themselves banished fear, and something in him felt oddly complete, for the first time in as long as he could remember. It was as if he’d been armed with the most powerful weapon while simultaneously being freed from the violence he’d been built for. It was a powerful realization, and he let it warm him for a little while. 

Soon, though, the reverie started to fade, and the completeness of a few minutes ago was gone, leaving a brand new emptiness in its wake. Now it was a sort of cold, aching thing, and he knew he needed to find Clint. Everything else could wait. 

Even the book, though he would definitely come back to that. 

He stood up and tucked the book into the pocket of his sweatpants and set off to find Clint, before remembering he didn’t actually know where Clint’s apartment was. 

“Hey, FRIDAY,” he started, looking up at the ceiling, even though he knew he really didn’t need to, “will you help me find Clint Barton?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” the AI replied, cheerful as ever, “but Hawkeye has enacted privacy protocols. I can lead you to his quarters, though. Just follow the arrows.”

Three weeks in the tower should be enough for him to know that nothing was what he expected, but clearly, it wasn’t. He was just about to ask the ceiling where the arrows were when purple arrows appeared out of nowhere on the wall in front of him. The future was wild. 

He followed the arrows into the elevator, which took him down two floors and pointed him towards a bright purple door. It was easy enough to get there, but he was absolutely lost about what to do once he’d arrived. He started dumbly at the thing for about a minute before reciting the litany to himself and knocking on the door. 

What the fuck was he doing? Barton had walked away, apparently wanting nothing to do with a wreck like him. Who was he to go against Clint’s wishes and barge in when the man clearly didn’t want anything to do with him? Hell, he didn’t even know if Barton was in there. For all he knew, he was standing in front of an empty apartment, like a fucking weirdo. Great, he was a mess, and a monster, a selfish bastard, and a creep on top of all of it. He was just about to leave when the door opened, revealing an absolutely ragged looking Clint Barton.

“Uh, hey. I, uh, well,” Barton held out his hand, “I’m Clint. I think I might be your soulmate. Uh. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Ever the charmer, Bucky just stood there and blinked at his soulmate. Eventually, he pulled himself together and reached out to shake the proffered hand. “Hi, Clint. I’m, uh…” 

Smooth, Barnes, he thought to himself, choking on your own name. He thought a little harder, ran the Litany over in his head again, and made several decisions. Steeling himself, he gripped Clint’s hand a little more firmly, “hi, Clint. I’m your soulmate, James Barnes.”

Something unlocked, then, between them. Clint beamed at him, and he could tell he was returning it. BUcky took the opportunity to look at the man across from him. Clint was huge, nearly half a foot taller than he was, and broad as anyone Bucky had ever seen. His hair was the color of straw, and his eyes were an odd sort of dusty blue, like a sky at dawn. His smile… fuck, Clint Barton’s smile could power a small city, and Bucky knew as certainly as he knew anything that he would never get tired of seeing it. The hand in his was warm and soft, even with all the calluses, and it felt like a lifeline.

They stood there in the doorway, holding each other’s hands for what felt like a short eternity until Clint wobbled a bit and let out a hiss. 

“Ah, yeah,” he said with a bit of a laugh in his voice, “I’m a wreck. Let’s sit before this bastard gives out on me and I make an even worse impression.”

“Nah, you’re just fine,” Bucky answered without thinking, only for the words to catch up with him a beat later, “I mean, no, just, fuck. Let’s sit. We got a lot to talk about.”

Clint just laughed and stepped back into the apartment, still holding Bucky’s hand.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, bro,” he laughed out, “don’t really wanna let go, though.” He opened his hand, giving Bucky an out, but Bucky held fast, which made Clint laugh again. Fuck if it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard. “Ok, then. Won’t let go. Still need to sit before I fall down. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizin’, nothin’ to be sorry about. Sit and I’ll help you prop your leg up, or whatever.”

Clint’s grin just turned playful at that. “Nah, you sit. I’ll just prop it up on you.” He made a face then, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just said. “Sorry, bro, I dunno what’s wrong with me. I’m not...fuck. I’m not like this. I’m not a touchy feely guy, not usually. And while I’ve got game, I’m not like… whatever this is. I’d love to blame it on painkillers, but the strongest thing I’ve taken in day is ibuprofen.”

“No worries, I like it.”

Seeing that this could go on forever - something they’d both be more than OK with, it seemed - Bucky let go of Clint’s hand and moved to close the door. Clint took the hint and hobbled over to the couch and flopped down without ceremony. Bucky helped him get situated, sitting sideways with his legs across the cushions, before sliding himself underneath them.

The spell was broken, and they were both suddenly awkward and uncertain. Bucky had a million questions, but didn’t know where to start. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about it, because Clint barked out a quick laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. My mark is on my leg. Across my knee, actually. I thought the burn when you said them was just me screwing up the wound.”

“Wound? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

Clint laughed again. “Yeah, I’m fine. ACL surgery. A couple of weeks out, all went well. Nothing major, just an old body with a lot of miles on it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, before sadness colored his features. “I think they cut through your words. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s no-” Bucky started, but Clint cut him off.

“You know, I hated those words for so long. I’m me, you know? Well, you don’t, but you will. You’ll see. ‘What did you say?’ Man, you would not believe how many times I’ve heard that. Everytime, a disappointment, when it’s just some asshole or criminal or whatever that I’ve pissed off. Well,” he stops talking and fixes Bucky with a serene look, “not every time. Not the last one.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes, maybe hold off on making that call.”

“Nah. I’m right. I can tell.”

Bucky chuckled at him. “Whatever you say. So, the Litany Against Fear?”

“Oh, shit, man. What a terrible mark to have. I’m sorry. I just, I mean, Dune, though.”

“Clint, I could spend the rest of my life trying to explain it to you and still never fully explain what those words have meant to me. Those words have saved my life. And, yeah. Dune, though.”

“What?” 

Uncertainty is rolling off Clint now, and Bucky needs to make it go away. Right now. So, he explains. He explains the good and the bad, and all the ways he pictured meeting his soulmate and who he thought they might be. Clint seemed oddly proud at the thought that he’d done anything to make the famous Bucky Barnes fearless, and absolutely devastated at the thought of his words being used to control the Winter Soldier. Bucky tried to squash that, but knew it was going to take time to show Clint that he and his words have only ever meant good things to him. 

He finally hit the end of his explanation and asked again, “So, the Litany Against Fear?”

“Yeah, uh. Dune is my favorite book. Those words are the reason I’m still alive, though, to be fair, they’re also the reason I’ve almost died a buncha times.” Clint pauses to laugh at the scowl that brought to Bucky’s face. “It, um. I don’t know what you know about me, but I am a third grade drop-out. I ran off to join the circus with my big brother when I was a kid. It was hard, but there was this guy the, uh - shit, sorry, bro, your soulmate is carnie trash - anyway, the strongman. Jack. He was the biggest man in the word, at least to little me. Realistically, he was about my size now, but then he seemed like a giant. Just this big, bald, gruff motherfucker, that was secretly the sweetest human on the planet. He loved animals, and he knew exactly one joke: have you heard the one about the cannibal that was walking through the jungle when he passed his brother? Ugh, so bad. Don’t worry, it isn’t really funny, and you’ll get it later. So bad. But he read, like, all the time.”

Clint finally paused to take a breath, and started back up, explaining that Jack took a shining to him. Taught him all kinds of things, like math, and how to do electrical work, and shared books with Clint, starting with Dune. Clint shared that he re-read the book every year on Jack’s birthday, November 11th. He just took off, went off the grid to smoke cigarettes, drink vodka, and read Dune, and that when he finished the book he’d eat a piece of lemon meringue pie before wandering back to the real world. It was weird, but somehow very sweet. 

Bucky had no idea how much time had passed when Clint yawned and Bucky realized the room was lit with a warm pink glow of the sun rising outside. 

“Damn, we talked all night. You need sleep. I’ll go, we can pick this up when you wake up.” he slid out from under Clint’s legs and stood up. “You need help getting to bed, or are you going to crash on the couch?”

“Bed, please,” Clint said with another yawn, “but, would you stay? We don’t have to… I mean, nothing needs to… Just, I’ve been waiting a long time to meet my soulmate, and I’m not ready to let him go yet.

Bucky smiled down a rapidly fading archer. “I’ll stay. You think you’ve been waiting a long time, I’ve got you beat by decades. You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easily.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you're having a great day. 
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ussfriendship).


End file.
